


My Lady

by sanctuary_for_all



Series: In A Better World [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feels, I Need This So Badly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-21 06:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanctuary_for_all/pseuds/sanctuary_for_all
Summary: Gendry and Arya find each other again.(AKA the plotline Gendry deserved in 7X07)





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t a real anvil, but Gendry could make do. He needed a new battle hammer, needed to remind his muscles that they were no longer frozen, and he needed something to do while everyone else went to King’s Landing. Snow had agreed it was best that he stay behind – his face wasn’t likely to make Cersei any more willing to agree to an alliance – but the knowledge that he was going to be sitting here doing nothing galled him. He’d followed Davos out here to fight, not find a new place to waste time.

As if summoned, Davos appeared in the entryway. “Even if we don’t have a hammer, I’m sure there’s a club or mace we could find you somewhere.”

Gendry shook his head, continuing his work. “Wrong balance.”  He made an exasperated noise. “I’m glad Tormund isn’t dead, but the least he could have done was make sure he took my hammer with him when he got rescued. What with me saving his life and all.”

Davos made an amused sound. “Well, the two of you can sort it out on your way to Winterfell.”

The name threw him enough that his hand slipped, nearly sending the shaping hammer crashing down on his fingers. He swore, setting it down completely before looking back up at Davos. “Just because I won’t wave my face in front of Cersei, you’re sending me out of the fight?”

Davos looked at him like he was an idiot. “No, Jon wants you both to meet us in Winterfell because that’s our next stop after King’s Landing. Whether or not Cersei agrees to fight with us, that’s where we’ll prepare for war.”

There was nothing Gendry could say to that, no way he could ignore the fact that his heart was suddenly pounding. He was less afraid of White Walkers than he was finding out that Arya was dead, though he’d rather smash his hand flat than admit that to anyone. “Who should we report to?” he said instead, defaulting as always to bluster. “And does whoever it is know they should be expecting visitors?”

“Lady Sansa Stark, Jon’s half-sister.” Davos paused, giving Gendry a pointed look. “If you could refrain from telling her about your heritage seconds after you meet her, I’d consider it a personal favor.”

Gendry ignored the jab, too focused on getting enough breath into his lungs. Jon's half-sister, Davos said. As if he only had one of those now. “Is she all that’s left?” he managed, voice sounding off even to his own ears. Staying silent didn’t matter anymore – no news could be worse than what he was imagining right now. “If so, odds are she won’t be happy with uninvited guests.”

“There’s a younger brother and sister as well – Bran and Arya,” Davos said, lifting the iron pressing into Gendry’s chest with a single name. “Jon received a letter while we were here saying they’d made it home recently.”

Arya. Arya was home. Dizzy with the ability to breathe again, he scrubbed his hand across his face. “I’ll finish this up, and Tormund and I will set out the minute the rest of you set sail.”

He immediately went back to work, sticking the head of the battle hammer back into the forge to heat up again. Davos didn’t say anything, watching him with a penetrating expression. “So you suddenly don't mind being sent off to Winterfell?”

Gendry swallowed, not looking at him. “Like you said, it’s where Snow wants me.” He didn’t add that, at this point, Jon couldn’t _stop_ him from going to Winterfell even if he wanted to. He was going to see Arya again.

She’d be furious at him for leaving her. He’d be lucky if he just got punched, and there was even odds he’d end up with that sword of hers at his throat. There’d be even more questions, particularly from Lady Stark. He might even be kicked right back out of Winterfell the moment he arrived, and he’d have to huddle in the snow outside until someone took pity on him and let him back in.

He’d take that a thousand times over the other option, where she barely remembered him. Or didn’t remember him at all, her gaze passing over his face the same way she would a stranger. He’d take it, if that was all she had for him – it had been years, and he was barely more than a scribbled note in her life – and still be grateful for the chance to see her alive and well.

But he’d be praying she punched him.

“Jon isn’t the first Stark you met, was it?” Davos said quietly. “And from what I’ve heard of Bran, I can’t imagine he’d be the one to put that look on your face.”

Gendry kept his eyes down as he took the battle hammer back out of the forge, moving it back to the impromptu anvil. “I met their father once, before he died.”

“Of course.” Davos’s voice was heavy with disbelief, and Gendry could still feel the older man’s eyes on him. “I’m sure that must be it.”

Gendry’s chest tightened. “You don’t have to worry.” His eyes never left his work. “I know my place.”

After a long moment of silence, Davos sighed. “All I worry about is that you’ll get yourself hurt.”

Touched, Gendry looked up at him. “I’ll be fine.” He made sure his voice sounded as casual and easy as he could make it. His lips curved upward briefly. “Worst that’ll happen is Arya’ll stab me.”

Davos shook his head, expression wry. “You’re such a comfort to an old man.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was peaceful up here, looking out over the snow with her sister by her side, but part of Arya’s attention remained on the sounds of Winterfell behind her. A war could come to her front door at any time, and she would never again be caught off guard.

There was the sound of horses, someone below shouting what sounded like a name, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Sansa turn. “It seems Tormund has returned,” Sansa said, the faintest edge of amusement in her voice. “My guess is that the two of you will either get along famously or hate each other on sight.” She paused. “I don’t recognize the man with him, though.”

That was enough to make Arya turn as well, wanting to get a good visual on the stranger. She relied on the deadly potential in unfamiliar faces too often to allow any into her home. “Is Tormund the large one?”

“Yes.” Sansa nodded, watching as the redheaded giant’s face fell at whatever the guard had just told him. “Poor Tormund. It seems he’s just found out that I sent Brienne to King’s Landing.”

Arya didn’t respond, turning her attention to Tormund’s companion. The hood obscured the man’s face, likely marking him as a newcomer to the North – Northern men considered leaving their heads bare in the coldest winter a badge of honor, no matter how often the tips of their ears froze off.  More worrying was the way he was scanning the courtyard. Either he was searching for something, or memorizing the layout in case he needed to make an escape.

Just as she was ready to move down the stairs, fetch a mask and follow him more closely, the man pulled down his hood enough that his face was visible. Arya’s breath froze in her lungs.

Inside her chest, beneath the protective layer of ice, it felt like she was bleeding. Gendry was supposed to be one of her honored dead, buried so deep that his name hadn’t crossed her lips since she’d the day she'd seen him carted away by the Red Woman. She’d added names to her list in his memory, then delayed their deaths because anything that brought Gendry to mind caused her pain. She’d push it down even deeper, wrap it in a new layer of ice, a technique she now realized was a fatal tactical error. He’d made it all the way down to her bones, to the place the Faceless Men hadn’t been able to touch, and because of that he had the power to break her open.

That he would suddenly be alive, whole and delivered to her door.... It wasn’t possible. That Jon had retaken Winterfell was hard enough to be believed, and she'd spent every moment she was here bracing herself for the impact of finally seeing her older brother again.

This, though... this couldn’t be trusted. The only gift the Many-Faced God gave was death.

“Arya?” She heard the concern in her sister’s voice, felt the lightest touch on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Had the Faceless Men found him? His face hadn’t been in the House of Black and White when she’d been there – she would have seen it no matter how many others were there, recognized Gendry’s face as well as she did her father’s. But Jaqen could have found him, afterward, if the god had told him what a powerful weapon Gendry would be against her. Starks were too noticeable to simply disappear, even now, but they could have taken a smith. That might be Jaqen now, wearing his face.

She ran down the stairs, ignoring the sound of Sansa shouting her name, and burst into the courtyard below. Not-Gendry was off his horse now, looking around wildly at the sound of her name being shouted, but Arya didn’t bother with words as she charged him, knocked him flat on the ground, and straddled him. She heard the men around her shout, clearly alarmed, but none came running forward. Apparently, the sight of her executing Littlefinger earlier had been enough to intimidate them.

Not-Gendry, however, looked like someone had cut him open. “Arya,” he breathed, not struggling, and the sound of his voice pushed the knife in her heart a little bit deeper. “Listen, I know you’re angry, but—”

She forced herself not to listen, yanking her glove off and flinging it aside in the snow. There was one way to tell a Faceless Man’s disguise, a faint papery feeling on the skin around the face. It was a small, almost non-existent weakness – the few people who’d ever touched her when she was wearing someone else’s face seemed to simply dismiss it – but she’d tested it on both her own faces and the Waif’s after she’d killed her. She would never be surprised again.

When she touched Gendry’s face, however, that tell-tale sign wasn’t there. Arya pressed her whole palm against his cheek, but all she felt was the scratch of stubble and warm, living skin. She could feel her chest crack open as the truth sank in, leaving her feeling raw. It hurt just to breathe. “Gendry?” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes.

The sound of his name seemed to hit him harder than she had when she’d knocked him down. He blinked hard against his own suddenly wet eyes, lifting a gloved hand to cover the bare one that still rested against his cheek. “Milady,” he managed, voice rough with emotion.  

The crack inside her yawned wide, the edges around it starting to crumble. She could feel herself fall into it, knew with the certainty of a survivor that there would be no bringing the ice back after this. Her brother and sister had started the destruction, spider-cracks along a once-impenetrable surface, but Gendry would bring it down completely.

Nothing could have terrified her more.

She yanked herself away from him, leaping to her feet. He scrambled upright, clearly ready to follow her, but that only made her move faster. If he touched her again, that would be it.

Knowing this wasn't a battle she was strong enough to fight, Arya fled.


	3. Chapter 3

Gendry stayed frozen to the spot, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to watch Arya run away from him. He still wasn’t sure what had just happened, his brain reeling too much to process, but one thing was very clear – she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. He could give her that much, at least, no matter how much the thought made his chest hurt.

He scrubbed his gloved hand against his cheek, trying to pretend it didn’t still burn where she’d touched him. Opening his eyes, he turned back to the horses—

And nearly walked straight into the stone wall that was Tormund. “What was that about?” the other man asked, the warning clear on his face as he stepped forward. Gendry backed up, purely out of self-preservation, as Tormund advanced another step. “I know we’ve fought together, but if I find out you’ve harmed—”

“Tormund.” The quiet command in the woman’s voice stopped both men in their tracks. Gendry turned to see a red-haired woman in heavy furs giving him an utterly penetrating look before she turned to Tormund with an amused expression. “Arya is like Brienne. If Gendry had genuinely harmed her, he would be dead right now.”

Something alarmingly like understanding slowly passed over Tormund’s face. “Ah.” He grinned, wide and a little crazy, as he turned back to look at Gendry. “There’s something about a woman who can rip your heart out through your stomach, isn’t there?” He clapped Gendry hard on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

Then he wandered off, clearly content with whatever had just happened, and Gendry slowly turned to face the woman he was now alarmingly sure was Lady of Winterfell. She was still watching him with that same penetrating expression, as if she could turn his head inside out and see all his thoughts, and he swallowed as he ducked into a haphazard bow. “Lady Stark.”

She raised one cool eyebrow. “Not milady?”

Shit, she’d heard that. Not sure he was capable of explaining even if he was enough of an idiot to try, he ducked his head again. “Lady Stark.”

“Ah.” A flicker of what he desperately hoped was amusement passed across her face. “I caught your first name from my sister, but I don’t believe we’ve formally met.”

Gendry wondered which version of his name would damn him more. “Gendry Waters,” he said finally. Not legally true, he knew, but he needed to give himself _something._ He wished desperately he knew what to do with his hands. “Smith. I know Ser Davos, and I fought with your brother briefly in the north. He had me come here rather than King’s Landing in case Cersei still wants to kill me.”

“Well, Cersei’s hatred is certainly to your credit,” Lady Stark said, still speaking in that same even tone that gave no sign of what she was thinking. “But I’m afraid that’s not the portion of your history I’m most interested in.”

Shit. He swallowed, not able to stop his gaze from flickering in the direction Arya had gone. “Arya and I traveled together, for awhile.” He let out a breath. “It was years ago.”

“I see.” Her own gaze moved to his cheek, and Gendry realized to his horror that he’d lifted his hand to touch the spot again without realizing it. He jerked his hand down, and she looked solemn as she met his eyes again. “If you’re wondering about her interest in your face, my sister has had… dealings with a cult of assassins who can change their face to look like other people. I believe Arya was trying to ascertain that you were, in fact, who she thought you to be.”

Gendry’s stomach twisted at the thought.  Arya had clearly been through the worst hells, and he hadn’t been there for any of it. “I am. I swear it.”

“Oh, I know. As I told Tormund, she’d have killed you if you weren’t.”  It was clear she was watching him for some kind of reaction, but he was far more scared of Lady Stark than he was of Arya. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest that the girl he’d known had grown up to be a warrior, and anyone who hurt her deserved their deaths.

Even, in the end, if that list included him.

She nodded slightly, as if she’d read the answer off his face, then walked away as if she’d decided their audience was finished. Gendry watched her go, half expecting her to gesture for guards to kick him back out again.

Instead, she simply stopped to pick up her sister’s abandoned glove, then turned back to look at him. “I cannot promise you she’ll be there, but the family crypts are one of the few areas in Winterfell where a Stark can genuinely hope for a moment of privacy. I can have someone guide you there, if you’d like.”

Nothing she could have said would have surprised him more. “I… that’s….” He let out a breath. “Thank you, Lady Stark, but it’s clear she doesn’t want to be anywhere near me.”

Her gaze grew distant. “The sister I knew as a girl was a creature of intense passions. She loved and hated with a ferocity that I considered… uncivilized at a time.” There was a bite in the word, but it didn’t seem to be directed at him. “It’s astounding, what you end up missing.”

Then she focused on his face. “If she’d truly wished to avoid you, Gendry Waters, you would never have seen her.”

There was a message there, one he wasn’t sure he understood. Hope, he’d found, was never to be trusted. “You’re saying I should go after her?”

She lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug. “It’s your choice. I’m merely sharing information you might find useful.”

“Why?” The word burst out of him before he could decide whether or not it was a good idea. “I’m no one.”

Her only response was a long, quiet look. “You’re someone to my sister,” she said finally.

Gendry swallowed. “Then yes, please. I would like to be guided to the crypts.”

Her lips flickered upward briefly. “You’re a wise man.” She turned away again, gesturing to one of the servants as she walked away. “Show our guest to the entrance."


	4. Chapter 4

It was peaceful down here, among the dead.

Arya stood there with her eyes closed, breathing in and out slowly as she tried to absorb some of that peace into herself. She’d acted like a child up there, frightened of pain just because she thought she’d protected herself too well to feel it. She knew how to deal with pain, to do what needed to be done despite it. This was no different, no matter how deeply it hit. All she needed to do was—

“Arya.”

She flinched at the gentle sound of her name, angry at herself for the involuntary gesture. She opened her eyes, making her voice as cold as possible. She’d rebuild her ice against him if it killed her. “Gendry.”

There were a few quiet footsteps. “Your sister said I might find you down here.”

Arya’s jaw tightened, firmly reminding herself that she _did_ love Sansa, no matter how annoying she was. Killing her would be bad. “How thoughtful of her.”

Only silence from behind her. Arya knew she should feel threatened by the fact that someone was in her blind spot, someone who could be doing _anything_ and she wouldn’t see it. But her nerves were quiet and still, as if even they knew Gendry could never be a threat.

Which wasn’t true, of course. He just wasn’t the type of danger they understood.

She made herself turn around, determined to size him up like an enemy. Gendry looked goo— No. Healthy. He looked healthy, decently fed and dressed appropriately for the weather. He was trying to keep his expression blank, but the warmth in his eyes— No. No no no.

Arya met his gaze, forcibly shoving her traitorous thoughts underneath the heaviest weight she could find. She yanked off the one glove she was still wearing, tucking it into her sword belt. “What are you doing here?”

Gendry shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. “There are a couple of different ways to answer that question.”

Arya braced herself. “Start with the simplest,” she said dryly. “End with the one that’s true.”

The corners of his mouth flickered upward, and Arya shoved the warm pulse in her chest under exactly the same weight she’d buried her thoughts. She could do this. She’d be fine. “Ser Davos found me, brought me north to fight by your brother’s side for awhile,” Gendry said. “They’ll be here as soon as they’d done at King’s Landing.”

Her chest spasmed again at the thought of seeing Jon, no matter what potential political disaster he was dragging home with him. No matter what queen he served, or what the lords thought of him, he would always be her brother first and foremost. “How is he?”

“Well.” Gendry’s voice was warm with the attempt to reassure. “We got into a bit of trouble beyond the wall, but the Dragon Queen came along and rescued him. Other than the fact he was about to see Cersei, he was whole and healthy last time I saw him.”

Arya closed her eyes. Sansa had told her about the letter Jon had sent, but somehow this felt different. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She could hear his indrawn breath. “I should have asked about you, earlier, but I didn’t...” She opened her eyes in time to see him swallow, gaze sliding away from her face. “Didn’t want to hear you’d died.”

She could still remember with perfect clarity the sight of the Red Woman dragging him away, the sick sense of helplessness in her gut as the knowledge sank in that she’d never see him again. “How did you survive the Red Woman?” she asked quietly.

“Ser Davos saved me.” He looked back at her again, expression wry. “Once again, snatched from the jaws of death just in time.”

She could remember Gendry in the torturer’s chair, too. If Jaqen hadn’t already killed him for her, the torturer would have been on her list as well. “Then I owe a debt to both him and this Dragon Queen of Jon’s.”

Arya only realized the words had slipped out as she saw the surprise flash across Gendry’s face, followed by a spasm of emotion she didn’t dare look at too closely. “Arya....”

This time, she was the one who looked away. Her chest still ached, and the bitter realization hit her that she could rebuild her shield of ice a thousand times over and it wouldn’t matter. It simply didn’t work against some people.

And it was her fault Gendry was on that list. “And the true reason?” she asked quietly, putting an edge on the words.

The silence grew heavy. “I never had a family,” Gendry said finally, voice rough with emotion. “But I came pretty damn close with this one girl.” He let out a breath. “I never should have left her.”

It was galling, how badly that stung. She remembered him talking about pretty girls, imagining some soft, round, sweet-smelling creature who’d warmed his bed in one of the towns he went through. Someone who’d made him forget all about the half-feral girl who’d wanted so _badly_ to be his family. “Why don’t you go find her, then?” she snapped, voice even sharper than it had been as she turned to glare at him.

His lips curved slightly again, soft and sad. “I did,” he said quietly. “Right now I’m trying to figure out if she’ll let me stay.”

The words were so unexpected that it took a moment for them to sink in. Hope shot through her, so bright it burned, and there wasn't a weight heavy enough to keep it pressed down.

But oh, she could try. “You called me milady.” 

“I was wrong before.” His expression was so solemn now, gaze intense. “Turns out one person can be both.”

She backed up a step without meaning to, heart starting to pound. “Sansa is Lady of Winterfell.”

“That’s true.” Those speaking eyes pinned her in place. “But she’s not my lady.”

Arya swallowed. “I’m not a lady.” 

He smiled a little at that, warmth sneaking back into his expression like sunlight. “So you keep telling me.” 

She had to close her eyes to keep from seeing it. The pain was different now, less a wound and more the feel of muscles forced back into a use they’d forgotten. In its own way, it was just as terrifying. “You didn’t want to serve anyone,” she whispered. A thousand other things crowded her throat, but even if she’d had the words to say them she wouldn’t have dared.

There was only the quiet sound of footsteps as he moved closed to her, stopping a few feet away. “Everyone serves. Only choice you get is who you follow.” There was no resignation in his voice, only a level of understanding that made her heart hurt, and it was enough that it took her a moment to realize what the quiet rustling she heard really meant.

Once she did, her eyes flew open. Gendry was kneeling on the ground in front of her, on one knee like a knight offering service to his lord or lady. The hope and promise on his face made her chest burn, throat closing as if her heart had tried to use it as an escape route. “If you try to offer me some kind of oath of service,” she rasped, the words caught somewhere between an order and a plea, “I swear I’ll kick you.”

This time, he didn’t smile. “The only thing I promise is that I won’t leave you again.” The words were as serious as any oath she’d ever heard, and when he blinked she could see that his eyes were wet. “Just let me stay.”

She just met his gaze for a long, silent moment. It felt like she was standing on top of the tallest wall in Winterfell, the stones crumbling beneath her feet. Arya knew she could continue to fight the fall, delay the inevitable in a desperate scramble for safety, and there would be a chance she’d hurt him badly enough in the process to chase him away again. It would be simpler that way. Safer, probably for both of them.

But oh, her heart had broken enough.

Crossing the distance between them, she dropped to her own knees and threw her arms around him. He staggered back a little as he took her weight, clearly not expecting it, then sat back on his heels and tightened his own arms around her as if hanging on for dear life. He pulled her as close as their respective winter gear allowed him, enough that the hilts of her blades were probably digging into him, but he didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

Arya held on just as hard as he was, eyes filling with tears. “I hate your hair,” she managed, voice rough with emotion. “Someone should have stopped you the first time you tried to cut it that short.” 

His chuckle was wet. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

“It was a terrible idea.” She closed her eyes, pressing her face against his neck. “Clearly, you can’t be trusted on your own.” 

She felt his breath hitch, arms tightening around her even further. “Good thing you’ll be around to keep me in line, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out my [original fiction,](https://jennifferwardell.wixsite.com/mybooks) my [blog,](http://jennifferwardell.blogspot.com) or say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://sanctuaryforalluniverses.tumblr.com)!


End file.
